


The Mind's Mistake

by Biblioholic93



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Poetry, Vent writing I guess, harmonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biblioholic93/pseuds/Biblioholic93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had been played, and it had been him who played her.</p>
<p>When she had seen finally her mistake, she broke beneath the weight of knowledge as all seers do.</p>
<p>Why did she kill Vriska when she never even thought of him in that longest second of her life, or the whole game, or even her whole life?</p>
<p>She became consumed.</p>
<p>She became lost in darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mind's Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as one chunk and remains mostly unedited. It was put down in writing in the way it came to me. Even that really weird part where poetry is involved. Read it in one go, it has a rhythm and if you really let yourself read it you might be surprised where it takes you.

The trolls were a very codependent race. Terezi later learned the meaning from the human Rose. But the cultures were too different for there to be easy communication on the subject, and not different enough to be quickly inherent. So the realization that was happening in the back of Terezi's mind waited for almost a year before finally snapping into place.

The trolls were all codependent, by the culture of their caste system, because it is culture that defines boundaries, and Terezi saw suddenly that with codependency comes the best place for players of mind to fight their battles. And with utter horror, when she saw the game that she had actually been playing, she realized that she had been played like a harp, she had been a piece moved as casually and used as carelessly as the bishop.

She had been played, and it had been him who played her.

When she had seen finally her mistake, she broke beneath the weight of knowledge as all seers do.

Why did she kill Vriska when she never even thought of him in that longest second of her life, or the whole game, or even her whole life?

She became consumed.

She became lost in darkness. 

She refused to use her powers because Gamzee absolutely hates mind control and mind alteration, and she would not stoop so low to allow him to call her those names.

She persisted beyond all reasonable demands on her own physical body, to again and again throw herself onto the sharp spear of his whim, no matter how shitty and pathetic the fight became she kept hold of his hand, and let him use her as a flag to assemble the team. Was she doing this? Or was he, the bard of Rage, the one that drove her heart and the timelines through this complex weaving of paradoxes into the second dimension, the dimension of soul and heart and truth as differentiated from lies and mind and others around them. Was he truly the bard, listening to a muse, inspiring the lord to rise and consolidate and be the struggle that could reverse the inevitable mistakes of the generations and place in each ear an identical collection of words to make everybody understand what Sburb was.

Was he really the one?

Could nobody else see that Gamzee Makara was the most important character in this game they played and this story they were a part of?

She heard of another bard, one of hope, and saw that his session mirrored him in a perfect way: it was hopeless. Every cog in the machine had the wrong missing tooth, and this machine slipped perfectly, horrifically, slowly into perfect utter hopelessness.

And, she noted suddenly with a jolt, the makaras had switched classes with the amporas. The magic went to the scientific man, and the navigator's sextant went to the fool.

And then. The fool. Brought. Them. Home. Home to his empty house. Home to a warm delusion pie (you thought it was her that was the evil one). Home to being laughed at (I'm just a joke gambit piece), home where seadwellers frequently come to visit for his head (like I visited so many lowbloods for fun), and he never sees his dad because his dad is too busy keeping the seadwellers off the shores of his son's waters (or being an egg), home where he is too self-centered (self reliant?!?! you were never close to that!!!) to think that his father is doing something (stupid parents just love me) for him (why am I hungry?), home where (I put my scalemate down) he's allowed to think (how I loved to think) that his father goes off to play with seadwellers (or is too busy being a useless egg) to show his own son how the world works (or how the world views those of us that are superiorly nasally gifted) or how it can be better (if things are black and white, then have I chosen wrong?).

The bard made the magic the others channeled, and with magic...

Karkat marshaled the Beta Trolls into a session about the individuals it was made of; 

Kanaya stoked the forge and lived beyond her death to fix this mistake of hers;

Aradia with her robotic body under service to an ever present omniscience allowed their session to take any form that matched their hearts and then after littering paradox space with miles of red lifeless eyes /still/ got what she wanted and beat death itself to live again; 

Equius reduced himself by gleeful choice to nothing but a primal force that would bow to the blood higher than his and guide the blood lower than his into the jaws of inevitability and even then fill the scrap of metal that would become their free ticket to sburb victory with his blood, so that he might lower himself at last into nothingless complete and total as he wished to be;

Nepeta stole their hearts and made them willing sheep ambling to slaughter;

Sollux made the game and built it so that he could die many, many times, and with each death torment himself further and further by his own helpless hand in the tragedy, further into thinking maybe it won't happen, maybe it can finally end, further into the strangeness that had never been his game's purpose and had yet always been it's goal; 

Eridan waited and told no lies about his genocide dream right to the day he blasted the matriorb for punishment to the troll race never loving him enough; 

Tavros tried to help as best he could and when he was driven down to the ground landing in a world where his legs were useless meat he dreamed of flying and that was all he needed so that was all he took;

Vriska only heard one thing: because she loved her mommy people hated her, so Vriska became the villain in her own mind so she could keep breathing, attracted Terezi to enact her most useless petulant whims on the world, dancing with her in a huge festival about VRISKA because when you are VRISKA you are either IMPORTANT or DEAD;

Feferi beat their culture of the many in service to one by dying in the most precise way, then bringing the players of all the sessions together that hers or theirs had ever touched or would touch, creating a place in the void that had it's own ecosystem of sburb;

And then Terezi herself. She had been a power piece, crucial to steering Vriska and Eridan and Nepeta and Tavros and Aradia and through them shaping the session to her (and his) whim, and with her simple character flaw she had helped herself to the way into paradox space to confront this horrible creature that was Lord English of the Fifth Session, only to realize that this was by his inevitable and mighty will that the music had risen from of all creatures Gamzee God Damn Makara, and in this moment so long after she could ever hope to fix her mistakes she realized that somebody had already known. Kanaya had already known, Rose had already known, Karkat had been dogmatic about teamwork when teamwork was the very platform this magic of Gamzee's ever existed, and she was the last one being laughed at, she, she had ushered Him in with a flourish of her justice into the back of her very best of friends all so that Gamzee Makara could have his miracles.

Her detective's mind finally broke from under the strain of shame into mindless fury, there exactly, halfway through forming the word miracles, and horrifically she began to laugh at the honks because she knew they were for her, the honk tolls for thee Terezi, because to him all her mind breaking meant was that the word miracles faded into sparkling laughter out of her mouth, and thereafter he had the perfect place for all his anger and fury to go, into her body, sensually and literally and viscerally and solidly and by sheer absolute fucking need she came back to him again and again and again, into his claws to be torn apart and gush delightful tears and blood and come into his mouth and on his body.

She would let him do humiliating things to her so that she could feel as terrible as she thought she was, sometimes making her believe she was winning right until she woke with faygo-sticky limbs in her lucky underwear on the roof on the eve of the second session, the sburb semi-finals, which she herself had been steered to create.

With the rage of doc scratch's wish for death, Gamzee Makara had done this to her, and now that Terezi was finally blissfully ignorant of the world around her she only held his hand and kept breathing through the searing pain of her broken ribs because she had finally bowed to the will of her betters as Equius had willed, Equius the man who dreamed of becoming nothing, reached through his own void power and Feferi's life power and Nepeta's heart power and Karkat's blood power and Sollux's doom power and Kanaya's space power and Aradia's time power and Eridan's hope power and Gamzee's rage power and Tavros's breath power and Vriska's luck power and Terezi's mind power to finally have somebody reach for his mind and fire an arrow and make him kneel, and with this perfectly homogeneous mass of codependence Terezi had done her work for the rage in her heart that was Gamzee's home, her home, the broken home, the hard home, the cold home, the home she used to build lies and build doom and build death and build pain, build spacetime with the doomed lies and build spacetime towards the sweet final relief and with reality in her fingertips she had chosen to exact her pettiest of whims on the world and bring justice and somehow she had thought that justice had everything to do with harmony and the reality of it was that justice was a lie that served the stronger willed and those who can gather the greatest numbers for a vote to action and force and violence, and justice did it with the power of a simple human sacrifice, a fool, which Terezi had willingly given the wrongly accused and allowed the fool to bring the world down upon their heads...

... or had he done it to lift them all up on the monstrous corpse of Lord English?

She would hold his hand and hate him no matter what, because in her mind she had chosen her fate the second she'd driven her sword through that strong shouldered back.

In her mind, the world was lost, she was lost, in his helpless rage seeping into her mind and making her howl with mirth and agony, place her own body in the hands of the master she had accidentally chosen and would never let go of her hand because he would never have enough of her, she would never have enough of him, and they would continue their dance, disgusting everybody around them and throwing all into perfectly ordered ripples of strangeness that looked like chaos but was only musical madness roaring up in twelve harmonious notes, shaping the world by revulsion and hate and the inevitability of clashes in the way only a truly cosmic kismessitude can.

Vriska had been her dance partner before, and she had not been found worthy.

Gamzee was gloriously worthy, because he was the very force that had twisted her mind into thinking that her fellow troll was not to be trusted, into thinking she had been blind all along, into thinking herself into simple blindness all along.

Gamzee was the one she would oppose.

She would never let go of his hand, it's knuckles bloodied second hand with Vriska's blood, it's strength that which had crushed her gentle friend Nepeta's wrist, it's lifeblood the pain of both of their lives and hers more than his.

Gamzee. Gamzee. She laughed at his scent.  
Tiptoeing to the shower,  
Where all of his power,  
Would all gleefully be spent...  
In her body.  
In her body.  
In her mind and body,  
To the torment of her soul.  
That guy's a fucking hottie,  
Hit me again but this time dole  
Out MORE  
TO MY CORE!  
I DARE YOU YOU BIG FAT JOKE!  
GO AHEAD AND IN MY SKAIA CROKE  
VAST AND DEEP AND BLOODY  
FILLED WITH HOPE AND DREAMS  
TAKE THIS SEEING MIND TO SLUTTY,  
HORRID PLACES, BURSTING! AT! THE! SEAMS!

(She licks her lips.)

Bursting at the seams.

Oh, that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew!

Terezi held his hand, smiling, and knowing she had chosen right this time. Her will was inevitable. She knew something that Gamzee didn't.

You cannot fight your heart. You must embrace it.

He only knew death, and was embracing it as if it kept him safe.

Terezi would break his home's most terrible mistake.

She realized that she had been screaming for forgiveness.

She realized that when she threw herself at something, the world would move for her. And when she attacked, Gamzee's energy shifted.

The mind moved one from space a through void to space b.

She was in control after all.

She was his pupil.

She was his end.

She gaped from beneath Gamzee's arm, caught her breath.

And then... shadow, above.

She had come after all. The cruder tool. Their true enemy.

She had chosen well with Gamzee after all. His music and her mind would not be stolen by a mere thief of life, not as they were, waltzing in a perfectly orderly ripple of chaotic dominoes, neither leading, neither following, only ever circling, the chop of waves only ever stirring a certain point a certain way to steer the madness into harmonious and relieving victory.

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed gently back, and as one they opposed the Emperess.

As one they stepped forward.

As one, they pushed.

They pushed, and the world fell like dominoes into inevitable sanity, into inevitable resistance to Lord English's Vast Honk.


End file.
